


Those Left Behind

by Languid_Victorian_Poetess



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Past Character Death, Post-Betrayal, Supernatural Elements, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, if it's not angst did I write it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languid_Victorian_Poetess/pseuds/Languid_Victorian_Poetess
Summary: The brutal loss of Kyer and Sebastian hits everyone differently, made worse by the betrayal from Morrison and Nasir. A small group gets together, accidentally, to avoid talking about their feelings and try to find a way to grieve.
Relationships: Original Character(s) & Original Character(s), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Those Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> So a quick summary of the events leading up to this fic: the main party was betrayed by Morrison (a PC) and his demon husband Nasir (an NPC), which led to the deaths of Sebastian and Kyer. The other player characters aren't here because they're not, please don't ask me for a reasonable explanation, they're probably crying in their own rooms.
> 
> Anyway, I really like angst and grief, so here's a fic that's nothing but angst, grief, and some alcohol. As my close friend recently told me, my aesthetic is: "What if more people were dead. Think it over. Get back to me." It's also a group fic because I'm really enjoying those for some reason.
> 
> But yes, please enjoy!

“Oh, Jesus bloody fucking Christ.” Someone swore, the sound punctuated by a sharp crash. “Sorry, didn’t mean to waste it.” There was a long pause, then the quiet shriek of shards against the floor. Eliza poked her head in the doorway.

Jez was nudging aside a shattered… vase? Bowl? Something expensive and crystal aside with her foot. Irie surveyed the wreckage for only a moment, then lifted up a lovely plate of fine china. The ex-Fae didn’t even blink, just hurtled it against the wall where it exploded on impact. Eliza squeaked in surprise and the other two women turned to her.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt, I heard a racket,” Eliza said and dipped her head, ready to leave. She should be getting back to Nellie anyway.

“Nonsense, stay. We have alcohol and Catherine’s prized possessions.” Jez insisted and gestured to the room. It had probably been a nice sitting room, judging by the broad fireplace shaped like a dragon’s maw and the fine chairs and table pushed to the side of the room. Other miscellaneous furniture was stacked along the side, a chair from the dining room, a bedside table, an ornate jewelry box, and plenty of nice decor. Mostly things that were breakable, Eliza noted. Behind Jez, there were also several bottles of alcohol, sloppily stacked in two boxes, like they had been carried up from the cellar.

Jez caught her staring. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. Catherine, the old bitch, liked wine.”

_ You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead _ , Eliza thought. She remembered how Sebastian’s wrists had looked, all mangled and cut open, and the horrible paleness of his skin. She pushed the thought aside and chose nicer words. “I like wine.”

“Right, right. Forgot.” Jez’s eyes were a little glassy, a fine sheen over the dark brown. She beckoned Eliza to enter the room with a lazy wave of her hand. Irie didn’t speak, only hefted a chair and slammed it full force against the stone fireplace. Eliza flinched, though the splinters didn’t so much as touch her.

“Where’s Leo?” Eliza inquired and sat on the floor next to the boxes, carefully rooting through the bottles.

“Sleeping. How about Se-” Jez stopped. “Sorry. I. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” Eliza said softly and tried not to think about how she’d spent the last few hours holding back tears. A couple slipped out anyway.

Jez placed a hand on her back and rubbed gentle circles. Irie glanced over, her face impassive and unreadable. She selected a lovely red vase from the pile, set it in the middle of the floor, unsheathed her sword, and sent the creation into a thousand pieces with a single swipe. The noise was too loud. Again, Eliza flinched and stared at red shards, so like blood stains.

“Don’t mind her,” Jez said quietly. Her hair swung in front of her face, a dark curtain to obscure the other woman’s features. Maybe she was hiding tears of her own. “She’s not taking it well. Any of it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, so soft that Eliza had to lean in close to catch the rest. “Especially Nasir and Morrison.”

As if on cue, a table cracked like thunder. Jez reappeared, a false smile attached to her mouth. “I barely saved the wine. That’s where I found her. I go to grab a drink and there she is, destroying the only fucking good thing in this hellhole.” Her volume rose again to normal and there was a smirk in her voice that trembled uncertainly. Jez was good at pretending, but even she had cracked. Irie didn’t reply. Eliza was beginning to wonder if the betrayal had broken her.

“And Irie let you tag along?” Eliza inquired lightly.

“Well, I told her I’d find her something to destroy that wasn’t our precious stock of alcohol.” Jez answered. Eliza waited for Irie to chime in, surely any moment now she’s going to say something like  _ Quiet Blackwood _ or  _ I’m right here, you both can stop pretending I’m not _ or  _ God, isn’t there a way to get any fucking peace and quiet? _ . The ex-Fae was as silent as the dead. Eliza found the living’s quiet more chilling. She thought Jezabel might too, though the assassin gave no sign of it.

Irie’s cape whirled and suddenly she was in front of them, dark and imposing. Her blue eyes crackled, yet appeared sunken depths, like a ship unmoored and lost at sea. The rest of her expression was tucked beneath her hood. The light around her seemed to warp and bend, as though she exuded darkness and at any second, her wings would unfurl as a testament to her emotions. Instead, she reached out a hand towards Jez, who gave up over one of her revolvers without a word. Jez’s bloody knuckles flashed and Eliza sensed the undercurrent of understanding that she wasn’t a part of.

The gunshot rang out as something else, a wine glass it looked like, exploded in silver stars. A face peeked around the corner, drowning in a mass of dark curls and red rimmed eyes. The girl looked small, her frown more grief stricken than the usual curl of annoyance. Malia’s mouth puckered as she took in the sight, Eliza and Jez on the floor, Irie with a gun, the disaster on the floor, the chipped sight of the cream walls. “Is this what all the noise is about?”

Irie turned and began to peruse the pile of junk for another target. Malia lingered in the doorway. Jez shrugged and waved her over. “I wouldn’t bother asking her to stop.”

Malia’s expression soured further. Eliza wondered if she’d ever smile again, now that Kyer was gone. He was the only one who seemed to coax something like a grin to her face. “I never said I was going to.” It sounded petulant.

Jez looked like she was going to retort, so Eliza cut in brusquely and swiped away her unladylike tears. They had a guest, after all. “Oh, of course not. Do come sit, mind the mess.” 

“Why?” Malia said and her sneer wobbled uncertainly.

“What? Don’t tell me you have something better to do.” Jez shot back before Eliza could stop her. The two glared at each other for a long moment before Malia shrugged and moved to join them. She nimbly dodged Irie, who had begun to quietly set up a row of plates leaning against the fireplace’s mantle. The ex-Fae didn’t spare them so much as a glance. Eliza twisted a curl around her fingers and tried not to worry.

Malia had taken a seat on the ground beside her, Eliza realized with a start. She almost dropped the bottle of wine she was holding, but not seeing. She made the attempt to diligently return to examining the contents of the crate, but her mind wandered. The new label flashed at her and the wine shifted like blood in its depths. For a moment, it stained her hands. Sebastian mouthed  _ I’m sorry _ to Leonora, but the apology belonged to all of them. She blinked and the images were gone.

“How old are you, kid?” Jez asked. Eliza realized that Malia had begun to pick through the bottles too. The younger girl wore an indifferent sneer, but it looked pasted on. They all wore such carefully crafted facades that were so easy to pierce, a smile, a smirk, and a sneer. Did they look as pitiful as she felt? 

“I’m not a kid.” Malia scoffed and interrupted her wandering mind. “I’m 19.”

“A child!” Jez laughed, but it was biting and cold. “Well, kid, you still deserve a drink. Give her the 1708 bottle, won’t you, Eliza?”

“Jez, I don’t think-” Eliza began.

“Eliza. After the day we had?” Jez countered and the room felt too quiet. The ghosts seemed to gather and haunt the silence that clung fast.

“I was going to say that I don’t think 1708 is a good year. Here, try this 1709 chardonnay instead.” Eliza replied and plucked the bottle from the stack. Jez snatched it from her hands and pulled out a blade. She sent the cork flying with one quick swipe, then took a long gulp before passing it to Malia. Malia paused, blinked, then took her own sip. Her sneer didn’t lighten, but Eliza thought that maybe the weight off her shoulders did.

“So what brings you to us, not like our miserable sad asses can provide much comfort.” The assassin said and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. 

Malia fingered the edge of her sweater. It was several sizes too big and a light yellow, like pale sunshine. Her dark hair roiled over the fabric like clouds. “I was looking for you, Miss.” She nodded to Eliza and for the first time, her voice was something like soft.

“Oh! Me?” Eliza blinked and let the bottle of wine slip back into the box. She curled a finger around a strand of her hair and pulled tight. “How can I help?”  
“Some of Kyer’s sweaters have holes in them and I thought you might fix them.” It came out stiff and awkward, but the grief stood out in the lines around her mouth and bunched like her hands in the sweater’s sleeves. “Please.”

“I could fix it,” Jez cut in. Everyone stopped to stare at her, and even Irie glanced in their direction. Or she was looking at the particularly nice wine glasses behind them. It was likely both. “What? I was raised to be a lady, and two I stitch up my own wounds all the time. It’s not that hard.”

Malia only shook her head and Eliza felt the ghost of a smile briefly pass over her mouth. “I’d be happy to repair the sweaters, Malia. I can embroider something on them too, if you’d like?”

“I would. Thank you.”

There was a tentative bond being sewn and Eliza could almost feel the phantom needle in her hand. She realized it was only the curl of her hair too tight around her finger and let go. The conversation seemed ready to die out when Jezabel suddenly lunged forward and clamped her hands over Eliza’s ears. She didn’t have time to so much as flinch back or bat the other woman’s hands away. She made to protest when a quick succession of gunshots rang out. 

The dragon unfurled in her mind, it’s scales a deepening scarlet or maybe that was the blood. Kyer’s lavender sweater was stained red. Sebastian’s wrists were slit. The symbols on the floor were a harsh crimson. Someone had held her back when she screamed.

“Eliza.” Jez said. She’d let go and behind the glaze of alcohol, there was a hint of concern in her eyes. How many times had they said her name? It didn’t seem to matter. Irie didn’t seem to care. The world felt like it was falling apart. “Hey, Eliza, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, of course I’m-” She caught sight of a figure in the doorway and seized the distraction. “Hello Caprice. I’m sorry, did we wake you?”

He towered in the doorway and shook his head. The blue of his tattoos tossed like ocean waves against his dark skin. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Irie spared him a moment of her attention, but neither of them said a word.  _ What’s going on?  _ Sebastian seemed to whisper in her ear. She turned to tell him, found Malia beside her, and felt her eyes well up with tears.

The first pair fell. Malia scooted away and averted her eyes as she took another swig of chardonnay. Jez took her place and placed a heavy arm around her shoulders. In the doorway, Caprice held out a hand, and it took her a moment to realize he was trying to communicate with Irie. The gun was still smoking in the Fae’s hand. The room was burning with the smell. Eliza was choking. Jez hugged her tighter. Irie wasn’t giving in. A storm was brewing. Eliza wanted to pretend that it was yesterday or tomorrow or just any other moment. Any other time and place. 

“Irie.” Jez snapped. “That’s enough.” 

The ex-Fae whirled on her. She was darkness, phantom wings and broken feathers haunting the space behind her, dark blue eyes the only hint of color. She still had the revolver clutched in her hand. It was loosely pointed at them, but the muzzle shook. 

The vampire hunter was up in a flash. Despite the disadvantage of her height, Jez looked fiercer, all hard lines of determination rather than Irie’s contrasting desolation. She tried to take the gun. It was the wrong move.  **_(_ ** Or maybe, a little voice in a Eliza’s head whispered, the right one.  **_)_ **

Irie slammed a bloody fist into Jezabel’s cheek. Jez took the blow hard, the power of the punch sending her reeling towards the floor. Something silver glinted in her hands and Eliza realized that the assassin had rescued her revolver. “Is that what you do to your friends?” Jezabel laughed. “No wonder Nasir betrayed us.” She spit a clump of blood on the floor and swung. 

The retaliation, or maybe the provocation, must have caught Irie by surprise because that hit landed, glancing off Irie’s ribs. In a flash, they’d descended into a brawl. Jez was faster, but what she made up for in speed, she paled in comparison to Irie’s power. It was only too evident when a kick from the ex-Fae sent her careening into the wall, broken shards skittering in every direction. The assassin rebounded and countered with a few quick jabs to Irie’s back. No one moved to stop them. In some ways, this was what they had both been looking for. This was what they both needed.

Irie caught Jezabel’s next punch and gave her arm a twist. The inevitable crack of bone didn’t sound. Jez kicked out and connected with Irie’s kneecap. Eliza blinked and they were on the ground, Irie on top pommeling Jez’s face. Jez had bunched up Irie’s cloak in her hands and her knuckles were white as she yanked the fabric hard. The cloak dug lines into Irie’s throat, the beginning of strangulation. They were twin snarls, not of pain, but anger, a deep hate for something more than the scuffle in the room.

“Stop.” Caprice commanded. The word held music to it, like wind chimes or the lasting notes of a song. Malia’s hand froze, the bottle half to her mouth. Eliza closed her eyes and wanted to listen, wanted to obey-

“Fuck you,” Irie hissed between clenched teeth. The siren song still echoed, distant. Almost like they were riding away from the sea, the waves barely audible, if only she could draw a little bit closer to hear them again. 

Eliza opened her eyes. Jez was on her feet, blood staining her face and clothes. Crushed glass sparkled in her dark hair. Her eyes burned with an indescribable fury, there was an inferno in the dark dregs of the deep brown. She rolled her shoulders, but the emotion was unmistakable. 

Irie was worse. She stood locked in contention with Caprice, though his spell hadn’t kept her frozen, if it had affected her in the first place. Her hood had fallen down, exposing a diffraction of light as her power rippled through the air. Her wings stretched and for a moment, they were solid, black feathers and cracked blue eyes. She would open her mouth to speak and condemn them all to death.

“Jez!” Came a cry down the hall and everything broke. The fight’s sway burned off like the last of the adrenaline. Irie threw her hood back up. Caprice mumbled something quiet that might have been an apology. Malia was picking at her nails with a tiny dagger. Eliza realized she was still crying. “Jez!”

“In here, Leo,” Jezabel answered. There was something weary about it. Maybe it was the blood on her face or the tears still running down Eliza’s own cheeks. Maybe they were all a little weary.

He skidded to a stop in the doorway of the crowded room. His usual duster and hat had been removed and Eliza took note of his bare feet. They were very bootless and he was very shirtless. His trousers were rolled up to the knees, his blonde hair in a crazy disarray like he’d just rolled out of bed. Judging by the panic still lingering in his green eyes, he hadn’t fully joined their world.  **_(_ ** But which world was he in? Which world were they in?  **_)_ **

“Jez! Oh God, I was so worried,” Leo cried. In an instant, she was swept up in his arms. He pressed her face against his chest and Eliza noted the sweat on his skin. It glistened in a fine sheen and paired well with his tousled hair. He’d been asleep, she realized dimly. Jez had told her that. The last few minutes seemed years ago. She blearily dragged the heels of her hands across her cheeks.

Eliza waited for the harsh retort, the usual  _ Come on, Leo, I’m fine _ . It didn’t come. Instead Jez smoothed the fringe back from his forehead and let him hold her close. “Sorry, sorry. I got distracted, I didn’t mean to leave you alone in there.” They clung to each other and the room watched in silence.

Jealousy roared in her ears and settled to an undercurrent. Eliza thought maybe the others felt it. Malia tucked into her bottle again and Eliza let her own gaze fall to the floor. Yes, Nellie waited for her upstairs, but she’d still lost a best friend to hold. And watching Jez hold hers? It hurt. The tears hadn’t stopped.

“Jez, are ya bleedin’?” He pulled back suddenly and kept her at arm’s length. 

“Do you actually want to answer that?” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and his thumb graced her wound, smearing a thin trail of blood. The moment felt too intimate. Eliza wanted to look away and instead found herself longing for Sebastian and Nellie in equal measure.

He looked around the room, grazing the shattered fragments on the floor, Malia drinking, Caprice and Irie awkwardly standing across from each other, as if he was seeing it all for the first time. Well, given the way he’d barreled into the room, he probably was seeing it for the first time. “What happened in here?”

“Grief counseling?” Eliza suggested.

“Anger management,” Jez said at the same time.

“Alcoholics meeting,” Malia hiccupped.

Irie’s mouth moved like she had said something,  **_(_ ** it looked like the word  _ nothing  _ **_)_ ** but it was overpowered by everyone else.

“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Eliza tried. They all turned to look at her. She nudged a chunk of chair? Or maybe end table? Away with her foot. “We’ll clear space?”

Caprice moved first and helped her sweep aside the shattered remnants to make room for the living. She flashed something like a grateful smile and a shadow of his appeared in a faded reply. Leo joined next, though he looked ridiculous without his shirt in contrast to her bustling skirts, Jezabel’s vest and trousers, and Malia’s oversized sweater. Then came Jez with a scowl and her revolver stored away properly. The bullet casings littered the floor.

They made enough room to sit. Irie stood behind them by the fireplace, propped against the marble. Malia was on the fringe of their little circle, one crate of wine pushed to the middle, the other at her side. Jez sat in Leo’s lap, his chin propped on her head, his arms tight around her waist like he was afraid to let go. Caprice positioned himself with a view of Irie, though he was clearly pretending not to keep an eye on her. Eliza found an empty place and their little circle was complete. Except for the ghosts that seemed to linger at their shoulders.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” Eliza asked softly when no one else seemed ready to speak. Jezabel leaned forward and popped open two more bottles of wine, one of which she kept for herself. Eliza accepted the offering, took a sip, then passed it to Caprice.

“I don’t do funerals.” Jezabel answered.

“But-” Eliza protested.

Leo shook his head vigorously and she stopped.

“I’m going,” Caprice said.

“I’llllll be therrrre,” Malia slurred. Her wine bottle was bordering on empty. A touch concerning, but Eliza thought it best not to comment.

“Well, we should do something to honor them,” she declared. “Not the funeral.”

“We have the alcohol for it. But if you suggest another game of truth or truth, I’m throwing you out the window.” Jez countered.

“Jez, that game was your idea.” Leo pointed out.

“Hey, who’s side are you on?” She nudged her fiancé in the side. Again, fragments of smiles, like seeing them faded through a grimy window. 

Malia picked at the sleeves of her…  _ Kyer’s  _ sweater. “What about two truths and a lie?”

“We could do it about the memories of our friends,” Eliza agreed. “Like two true stories and one false.”

“I already hate this,” Jez groaned.

“It’s a good idea,” Caprice argued.

“Agreeeeed,” Malia said.

“That’s two votes for!” Eliza prompted and turned to Leo. 

He held up his hands in surrender. “Yeah, okay, count me in.”

Eliza shot Irie a glance and found the other woman watching them intently, but she made no move to join. “Well, that’s four for the game. That means we have to play.”

“Fine, but I’m getting my own bottle of wine for this shit.”

“Ya know that ya’re holdin’ a bottle, right?” Leo teased and pried it from her fingers.

“Well, I was holding my own bottle,” she scoffed in reply and retrieved another from the dwindling supply. She grabbed a second one and without looking, tossed it behind her. Irie caught it without a word and there was the quick snap of the cork that signaled she’d opened it. It was the closest they were probably going to get to bonding with her tonight.

“How’d ya play?” Leo asked.

“Simple!” Her voice sounded too shrill, like she was faking cheer. A true statement and Eliza took a breath and began again. “Simple. You tell three short stories about one of the… fallen members of your choice. Two of them are true and one is false. We have to guess which one is false and if you get it wrong, you drink.”

“Or, you just drink anyway,” Jez replied and lifted her bottle to her lips.

“Who should start?” Caprice inquired.

“Meeee.” Malia volunteered. She set her chin in her palm. “Wellll…. One, Kyer used to put my pen in myyyyy hair because it was always fallllling out. Two, he once heard someone call me freakkkkk on the street and punched them before I could. Three, when weeeee met, I saved him from a snake and he called me Venommmmm and Poison interchangeably for a few yeeeeears.”

“Two.” Jez said.

“How are you so certain?” Eliza asked.

“Oh easy, a guy like Kyer knows- _ knew  _ that Malia could take care of herself. Come on, give me the point.” Malia flinched at Jez’s self-imposed correction. No one else made the comment. They would have to work on shifting from  _ is  _ to  _ was _ .

“I don’t see why it matters, you’re drinking anyway,” Eliza sighed.

“That’s not the point, I just want to win.”

“She is very competitive,” Leo interjected.

“You’rrre right.” Her fingers ran up and down the sleeves of the sweater, playing the threads like chords of an instrument. “Afterrrr I punched him, Kyerrrr cleaned my knuckles.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t know him better,” Eliza breathed.

“Mee too.” She sniffed, but didn’t cry. Unsteadily, she pushed the wine bottle aside.

Caprice cleared his throat and everyone’s attention drifted away from Malia. Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza saw the younger girl rub her sleeve against her eyes. “One, Sebastian told me once that he knew what it was like to have a power and hate it. Two, he traced my tattoos once and told me they felt like ocean waves. Three, he said I should hold tight to something I love.” He didn’t glance at Irie, but the lack of the look felt more like a blow than if he had.

“Two,” Leo guessed.

“One,” Malia murmured.

Eliza shook her head, but didn’t throw her vote into the ring. Caprice held up three fingers. Malia shrugged and Jez poked Leo until he took a sip of alcohol.

“Did Leonora tell you that?” Eliza pressed.

“Something like it,” Caprice admitted. Even sorrowful, his voice was beautiful and lulling. She wanted to let it drown her. Would he agree to putting a spell on her tonight so she could sleep without seeing Sebastian?  **_(_ ** Slit wrists, bloody sigils, pale skin.  **_)_ **

“I’ll go and get it over with.” Jez said. Eliza could never tell if her timing was impeccable or she couldn’t stand the tension when the group produced it. “One, we ran into each other at one of Dorian’s parties and I actually saw Magnus blush. Two, he told me to stop coming around after a nasty incident with a vampire loose in the clinic. Three, I brought him a book of poetry on a whim and he recited a poem to me once over drinks.”

“Jez, that’s not ‘bout Sebastian or Kyer.” Leo pointed out. It was hushed and he took his fiancé’s hand in the quiet. Eliza’s own hand itched with the temptation to loop it through Sebastian’s arm. She scratched the skin absently.

“If we’re honoring the dead, then we have to honor all of them.” Jez replied and tossed back a drink. “They all deserved better. Magnus. Victor. Sebastian. Kyer.” It sounded like a prayer. Did she recite the names of the dead every night? “They all deserved better.”

“One,” Eliza said quietly, so no one else had to. “I don’t believe I ever saw Magnus blush.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Jez answered, but it sounded hollow. “I’d have shared something about Victor, but I didn’t know him well.”

“Who was Victor?” Caprice murmured.

“Someone else Nasir let die,” Irie retorted. They froze, no one daring to breathe. Her anger rippled out, touching each of them, her hate powerful enough to strike them like an arrow. It hit. It stung. It buried into their hearts and took root. Because at the end of the day, Irie was right.

“Bastard.” Malia swore. Was she actually drunk or had the wine temporarily gone to her head? “That sick bastard.”

“A complete fucker,” Jezabel agreed.

“A traitor,” Irie said and that was more powerful than the cussing. “Morrison too.”

“Irie-” Caprice intoned.

“Don’t Irie me,” she snapped. “They don’t deserve to live. Either of them.”

“Irie.” Cap said again. He reached out a hand. She looked back and finally saw her own wings stretching out behind her, flickering between the worlds of real and unreal. 

Jez cleared her throat. “Leo, you haven’t gone yet.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and let them sit in silence for a few moments. Irie appeared to be taking a few breaths in the background, her blue eyes locked on Caprice’s green ones.  _ The ocean and the forest _ , Eliza thought.  _ Or maybe, when combined, a particularly beautiful part of the sea. They’d make a good poem _ .

“One, Sebastian came and sat with me’n Magnus one night and we talked ‘bout lovin’ reckless women. Two, I let him borrow my hat once ‘n he almost lost it. Three, he asked me how to propose.”

“Three.” Jez said before anyone else had the chance. “He wouldn’t have asked you that.”

“Why not? I thought the proposal went well?” Eliza gestured to Jezabel’s ring.

“It was accidental.” The couple said at the same time. Irie rolled her eyes. Things felt almost normal.

“Nah, it was one.” Leo confessed.

“What? You told me about that conversation!”  
“That was the clay Sebastian, Jez.”

“Right, right, forgot about that bit.” Jez shook her head. “Jesus. We’ve been through a lot.”

“You can say that again.” Malia replied. “And I’vvvvve only been here for a few days. You’re alllll a bloody mess.”

“You should have seen London,” Eliza laughed.

“You weren’t even there for half of it!” Jez argued and nudged first Leo, then looked to Irie for support. “Right?”  
Irie gave something that might have been a nod.

“Don’t look at me, ya kept me out of it.”

“Is thisss the part where I ask about the clay?” Malia raised a brow.

“No.” They chorused and even Caprice shook his head lightly.

“Your turn, Eliza,” Jez said brusquely and drank some more of her wine.

“One, we once stole Jez’s flask and drank it dry. Two, he made a joke about being blind in Cairo and it was the first time any of us had laughed in weeks.” She took a breath. It was foolish to say, worse to admit. But she wanted them to know. Maybe they’d help. “And three, before he died, Sebastian gave me a ring for safekeeping so he could propose to Leonora. I don’t know how to give it to her.” 

Jez sputtered on her alcohol. Leo clapped her fiercely on the back. Caprice’s brows were raised and he stared at her incredulously. Malia blinked. Irie was pointedly not looking at them again.

“Jesus bloody fucking Christ, Eliza.” Jezabel coughed. “Don’t do that shit while someone’s drinking. I’m guessing fucking three is true. Jesus.”

“It is,” her voice felt so small. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Ya just give it to her,” Leo said gently. His eyes were kind and green like sunlit fields. Eliza understood how Jez got lost in them so easily. “ ‘Nd ya tell her what Sebastian wanted her to know.”

“It won’t be easy,” Caprice picked up. “But you should do it. I think she needs it.”

“If you don’t,” Irie said dangerously. “I will.” There was a seething quality to her voice, although Eliza didn’t think it was actually directed at her.

“She needs it!” A voice called chipperly from the doorway. Caprice had to spin around, Irie too with her hand on the hilt of her blade. Jez looked up so fast she smacked Leo with the back of her head and had to mumble several apologies. Malia rolled her eyes. They took in Robin standing there, looking horribly delighted. Well, for someone that saw ghosts all the time, Eliza supposed this wasn’t the same kind of tragedy. “Well, that’s what Sebastian told me. He liked your stories. Kyer too.” 

“Kyerrr’s here?” Malia whipped around and met empty air. The hope faded a little from her eyes. Eliza wished they had comfort to offer.

“Oh, of course. He won’t leave you anytime soon.” Robin’s smile was charming, even as they looked to something that wasn’t there, a spot on the floor that was bare. “Kyer says to wear the mint sweater, he thinks it’ll bring out your eyes better.” 

Robin cocked their head and turned to the hallway. It was empty too. “And Sebastian says he misses you all fiercely.” They paused for a moment, as if listening to a message. The air crackled and everyone seemed to lean forward, trapped by something unknown to hear every last word. “He says it’s not your fault.” Robin turned first to Irie, then Jez, and finally Eliza. “None of your faults.”

“It’s Nasir’s,” Irie growled.

Robin shrugged. “He doesn’t say much about blame, I’m afraid. He’s gone to check on Leonora again. But he does want you to give her the ring and to tell her that he wants her to keep it close, so she can have a part of him. He feels bad that she lost her pearls and the other one.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said and tried to gather the courage they’d offered.

“Kyerrr’s here?” Malia repeated.

“Yes, yes, he’s here. He’s fiddling with the pen in your hair.” As if on cue, the pen slipped out of her bun and clattered to the floor. Malia sniffled in earnest and it was heartbreaking to watch her try not to cry. The game was forgotten. Eliza wasn’t sure if this was better or worse.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the bare spot on the floor.

“I’ve found,” Robin continued with that grating too false brightness. “That the dead like it best when we live. Dustin likes to see you alive. Oh, and Eve, I suppose.” They turned to Jez who had gone pale, then skipped back to Malia. “And Kyer will like to watch you live too.”

Eliza blinked and saw the images again. Slit wrists. Bloody sigils. Dragon scales and claws. A knife in Kyer’s chest. Magnus’s body on the stone like the broken plates and vase. Victor’s shaking hands. Her vision blurred. Had she ever stopped crying? Would she?

“The dead always watch over those left behind,” Robin said. There wasn’t the same smile behind the words. These were quiet, lingering. A phantom in themselves.

Caprice came to her side first, an arm around her shoulders and a place to cry. Then came Jez and Leo against her other side, tears falling softly from one or both of them. Malia’s addition was tentative until Caprice yanked her closer, a tangle of arms, a mess of hair, a rainfall of tears. 

“Irie,” Cap offered his hand. She stared at him, at all of them.

“For us?” Eliza pleaded. The other woman huffed and slowly drew closer, her arms around the outside of the hug like a barricade from the outside world. She was breathing sharply, like the affection physically pained her, or maybe it was the echoing ache of all of their hearts.

Eliza turned to invite Robin, but they had already gone. It seemed like they had taken the ghosts with them, leaving the group hug barren, yet full of lost souls. They were simply the living left to haunt the world that should have belonged to the dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully I'll get back into posting some of my longer works soon, I have several in my finished pile that I'm excited to start posting. I hope y'all have a great day! <3


End file.
